Fear
Fear: On being human. On trauma, conditions and fires in the Calais 'Jungle'. On terrorism in Paris and elsewhere, Islamophobia and migrantophobia.
This post is quite personal in places. But hey, I'm human...
On the 1st of November there was a fire in the Calais 'Jungle' camp. A shanty tent-structure went up in flames, and gas canisters exploded.
As the heavy black smoke became more obvious, I happened to be fairly close, behind another makeshift shelter that meant I couldn't see what was burning; I might have been one 'street' away, if this had been any normal town. As the smoke grew thicker it became clear that the fire wasn't intentional, and was out of control. In milliseconds I unwillingly envisioned a scene where fire spread from tent to tent in the closely-packed 'Jungle'. There are no gaps between structures in case of such incidents, no fire safety regulations as standard in public camp-sites. Water points are very few and very sparse, there are no hose extensions, and there are no fire points with buckets or extinguishers. The whole place could go up, with little escape for the thousands of people who currently live there, trapped by flames or in a panicked stampede.
In my head, on such an occasion, I act calmly and constructively. If possible I move closer to the fire, to help anyone who is injured or in immediate trouble, to make sure that children are at enough distance, even to calm others down.
In reality, for some reason, on this occasion something inside me panicked. I tried to call the emergency services, but couldn't get through, and when the first explosion – a gas canister – went off, instead of turning towards the trouble I started heading in the opposite direction... I stopped to gain a better view, to see if I could do anything now. ...and immediately felt ashamed of my reaction. Perhaps my only consolation, I was handed a phone to talk to the fire service, this time already connected.
Though instinctive, my surprise at my own actions is genuine. I'm not entirely sure what happened. Maybe I'm searching for excuses, but an injury meant that walking was painful and difficult, and I felt more physically vulnerable than usual; I was also carrying some heavy items. But perhaps most significantly, I was probably suffering from shock, from minor trauma: the result of a couple of recent events that had left me feeling a little shaky. One of these was fleeing gun-shots in the Middle East.
At the beginning of November, Médecins du Monde, Secours Catholique, and other NGOs addressed a letter to the French state. It asked for improved conditions in the camp, including better access for emergency services, such as fire-fighters and paramedics. While most requests were rebuffed, some were accepted. The state ordered the Nord-Pas-de-Calais prefect to improve emergency access, among other things. The Calais commune and the Interior Ministry appealed, and during November the case to-and-froed, until the Council of State judge reconfirmed the original ruling on the 23rd of November.
On the night of the 13th of November, a huge part of the Calais camp went up in flames. Incredibly, no-one is thought to have been hurt, while around sixty shelters and temporary homes were destroyed, along with the items (personal belongings, official documents...) in them.
Eight days later, on the night of the 21st, another massive fire broke out. Forty to fifty tents and shacks burned down, as did everything in them. At least three people ended up in hospital.
These events create physical trauma. They are also emotionally, psychologically traumatic, especially when reminiscent of previous, greater dangers. My own emotional reaction, lingering from my (very) minor encounter with gun-fire, was enough to prove this. The explosions I witnessed in Calais – during what was by far the smallest of the three fires – apparently gave one visiting American ex-soldier 'flashbacks' to war in Afghanistan.
If this relatively minor incident ('relative' to other incidents in the Calais camp; had this been in a 'normal' street and a 'normal' citizen's home, it certainly wouldn't have been considered so minor) can make me feel so jumpy and give an ex-army-member flashbacks, what is it doing to the children, men and women who are seeking refuge from war, who are fleeing persecution, who have already lost homes and family, who have felt first-hand the wounds of personal attack, violence, of other, deliberate, targeted explosions?
And yet there were three major fires in the Calais 'Jungle' in November alone, and numerous further violent and tragic events occur daily. This year at least 24 people have been killed around the Calais/UK border (six since my post on the topic in October), and uncountable more have been seriously hurt. Those in the 'Jungle' survive in appalling conditions, where everyday life is unpredictable, threatening, and poses serious danger. The environment is so clearly damaging. For those of us not fleeing other horrors it can provoke feelings of terror and involuntarily instincts led by psychological trauma. For those who have undergone and are trying to escape much worse, this damage is far more severe.
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On the 13th of November a series of major and horrific attacks took place in Paris, carried-out by Daesh (or ISIL, ISIS, or IS). Reports of the 'Jungle' fire began to appear about an hour after those of the events in Paris. The Calais fire was accidental; in the camp candles provide light, fires are crucial for warmth and reheating food, and the coastal wind can blow ferociously, moving canvas and spreading flames. Nonetheless, social media quickly broadcast fears that the fire was intentional, some sort of 'retaliation' for events in Paris, and members of some Calais anti-migrant groups were quick to gloat over the potentially lethal flames.
Daesh claim responsibility for the events in Paris, along with other attacks. The extremist group call themselves Muslims and control large areas, including in Syria and Iraq. Apparently a result of this, such events have triggered deepened hostility towards both Muslims and migrants.
The 'terrorist' label often appears loaded with imbalance; Muslims tend to be 'terrorists' or 'extremists', while white perpetrators are 'gun-men', or 'mentally-ill'. On the 7th of December Donald Trump, standing for President of the United States, possibly the most 'powerful' country in the world (depending, of course, on how you define 'power'), called to ban all Muslims from entering the country.
Here lies the irony; many are using the fact that Daesh are self-proclaimed Muslims, or that one of the Paris attackers was found with a Syrian passport, used to cross borders along a refugee route into Europe, to place blame on the Muslims who are being targeted by Daesh, and on the refugees who are fleeing Daesh in Syria and other countries where the extremist group is creating growing states of terror.
These are the stories I hear in the Calais 'Jungle' (in majority, though not exclusively, of course. Each person has their own tale to tell). They reflect the same fears of the same extremist groups and their violent methods, of the same values that underlay the Paris attacks.
Fear (in its broadest sense) is powerful, universal, complex. It protected us from human-eating beasts when we hunted to survive, ensures we definitely turned off the oven before leaving the house, drives us to flee when faced with a gun-wielding assailant. Fear might also make us refuse to enter the bathroom when there's a spider in the 'tub (according to some, a phobia left over from old and more useful behaviours). Fear can make us act irrationally. It might make us turn away from a blaze when we should stay and help others, or make us imagine we are at war when we should be safe.
Fear can also provide a kind of irrational 'excuse', prompt anger and damaging behaviours, manifest itself as an unbridled, unreasonable defence mechanism that creates greater harm than good. We might displace our fears onto something or someone else, imagining we gain some control over them and over fear itself.
It can feel comforting to take sides in this way; creating an 'Us' and a 'Them' emphasises sense of control. As 'Us' we are a united team, strong and in safe company. Each individual is valid because in belonging to the group they are like the others, not outcasts, the same, accepted, valid. The 'Them', the out-group, the 'others', are different. They are worse because we are better, bad because we are good, and if they are a minority this must be even more the case. We can exaggerate this by making the 'other' look and feel bad; it proves just how not-as-good-as-us they are, and just how powerful and in control we are.
When fear is manifested in this way it becomes self-perpetuating. Divide encourages further division; a more established in-group makes it easier to victimise the 'other' and more difficult to act independently. The bully follows the group for fear of becoming the bullied.
In the case of the refugee out-group, their reasons for fleeing are also perpetuated. Persecution is following them. It's exactly what the original 'bullies', the victimisers, the persecutors, the extremists want: no escape, no end to victimisation.
If we are allowing the xenophobes and their fear some understanding – they are only human, after all – then perhaps we should do the same for the extremists. I presume that they too act through fear, through the need to assert some kind of control, to assure their own safety, now and for the future. This hints at a bigger danger; that the 'old bullies' (the extremists) and the 'new bullies' (the xenophobes) will become accidental collaborators as the 'new', aiming to protect themselves from the threats of the 'old' (the same threats from which the victims are running), inadvertently adopt their behaviours, and exert their fears on the perpetual victims.
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My reaction to the fire and explosions in Calais was founded in fear, as was that of the U.S. soldier: an involuntary, instinctive, human fear: a fear resulting from earlier experience.
For many the journey to Calais, to Europe, to the UK is based in a similar – though more extreme and more well founded – fear: of serious, deliberate harm, of death, for oneself or one's family, of abuse and victimisation, of being unable to lead an acceptable, bearable life: real threats from real experiences.
Others are reacting to the events in Paris and elsewhere with a fear that is not entirely dissimilar: a fear for the self, a fear of attack, of the unknown and therefore unpredictable, an insecurity, a lack of control: that human desire to defend oneself.
These fears are all so similar, and all connected: we are all human. Perhaps the nasty racism and xenophobia should be allowed a degree of empathy; however misguided, however uninformed, however ignorant, intolerant, self-interested and unaware, however much they lack empathy themselves, these people are... people. They're human, like everyone else, although it may be difficult to accept at times.
Really we are all in the same 'in-group': the human one. The issue comes when rather than recognising this collective trait, rather than admitting that 'migrants', or Muslims, are human too, rather than perceiving that most of these people are afraid for the same reasons, for themselves and their families, are fighting the same thoughts and fears, and are fleeing actual, ongoing threats, often personal, and often experienced first-hand, they are denied the right to being treated like fellow human beings.
